


Spinning Lines on a Worknight: In which Greg and Mycroft indulge their love of Bond films.

by otherwiseestella



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestica, Fluff, Fondness, Herbal tea, M/M, Mycroft is getting better at relaxing, Plan A is a delight, Relaxing together, Slice of Life, Watching Bond Films, Weekend plans, domestic fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwiseestella/pseuds/otherwiseestella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is tired: Greg is exhausted. They settle on the sofa, watch films, and are generally incredibly sweet.<br/>Fluff, really - character study for something longer I am working on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinning Lines on a Worknight: In which Greg and Mycroft indulge their love of Bond films.

‘You sure about this?’ Greg crooks his head so that he is staring down into Mycroft’s face.

‘For heaven’s sake, yes. I told you; I have no desire to socialise with colleagues when not forced to through circumstance. And they still won’t clear you.’

‘You know you don’t need to...’

‘Nonsense, of course I want you cleared, if only so I can summon you.’

‘How long have you known me? If you think I can be summoned, love, you’ve no idea.’  
He rubs his chin over the top of Mycroft’s head, and then runs his hands down over his shoulders.

‘Remind me why I am engaged to a man I can’t summon?’

‘Because the two men who live downstairs can be summoned and are, arguably, far burlier and more exciting than me, not to mention Anthea. You needed a change. Now pop it on, I’m excited.’

Mycroft breathes out a long, heavy breath under Greg’s fingers, the warmth of his hands seeping through his shirt.

‘And no falling asleep.’

It’s only the movement of his eyes that give it away. He isn’t free from tells, but the very few he has can only be read by his brother and, increasingly, Greg. The soft noise in the back of his throat fifteen minutes in, though, is a giveaway.

‘You and Daniel Craig. You’ll be half hard by the time this is finished and I’m not spinning lines upstairs on a work night.’

‘Not a patch on a certain policeman.’

‘Stop talking about Anderson and let me concentrate.’

Mycroft smiles, stopping short of laughter.

‘Oh, now that’s more like it.’ He presses a soft kiss to Mycroft’s temple as Ralph Fiennes bustles on screen. ‘He even walks like you.’

‘Unsurprising, we did undertake an hour’s interview with the research team. Pleasant, lunch with Dame Dench. Always refreshing, although I do find it endlessly amusing that they think that is my only job. Would that it were.’

‘They did interviews with us once, for some police drama, if we’re boasting. Jesus but he’s hot. D’you want tea?’

‘Mmm, herbal please, had four coffees this morning.’

‘Up, then.’

Mycroft watches Greg pad across the TV room (media centre) in his socks, hears the creak of the door and the shunt of the Aga hotplate lifting, the drumming of water hitting the kettle. He stretches his legs, toes off his shoes, which he arranges neatly, pointing under the sofa. The room is softly lit and he can feel his body getting heavier, as it never did when he listened to those ludicrous relaxation tapes alone.

In the kitchen, the policeman is whistling the theme tune under his breath. Tomorrow is Saturday, he’s not in until the evening shift, and although Mycroft is in conference calls from 5am, he has finally been persuaded to login from home.

Greg slips through the door just as Glen Coe spins past on the screen. ‘So you told them that, then?’

‘No, artistic licence, although doubtless there will have to be a debrief.’

‘We’d better still get there in May.’  
‘Doubtless. Now come and sit down, there’s a helicopter.'

Mycroft drinks his tea, running his thumb in light circles over the back of Greg's hand. 

The rest of the film passes in silence, although Greg’s hand tightens momentarily on his leg when Silva dies.

‘Think of the paperwork,’ Mycroft says.

When the credits roll, he loosens his shoulders and stands, waiting by the edge of the sofa, hand proffered, and Greg takes it, hauls himself up.

‘Bedfordshire?’ 

‘Ten points for seduction. No, I’m afraid. We’ve several – interesting – meetings next week and I have advance preparation which sadly’ – Greg makes to cut him off but Mycroft kisses the end of his nose and ducks – ‘Sadly has to be done now if you wish to stick to Plan A tomorrow.’

Plan A is delightful. It features breakfasting later than usual, a trip to the Maritime museum and supper at Mycrotft’s club with Lilly, who has been pestering them to take her since she found out that female guests were allowed. She’s down from uni for two weeks and is keener to spend time than Greg had dared to hope.

Greg makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and patiently climbs the stairs. ‘One hour, Mycroft Holmes, and I might just manage to stay awake for you.’

He’s talking nonsense, though. He’ll be asleep in moments, and then happily soft and sleep-drunk when Mycroft slips in beside him. He’ll wind an arm over him and cup one hand loosely over Mycroft’s groin, leaving him the choice between falling asleep half-hard and batting Greg away, or rolling toward him and bringing them both off, Greg spouting filthy endearments in his half-conscious state.

Mycroft thinks he might just be the luckiest man alive.

**Author's Note:**

> (I hate saying this, but please leave Kudos if you enjoyed it... it really, genuinely makes my day.)


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